


Someplace On Earth

by Twelve (Dodici)



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Ash Lynx Goes to Japan, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Post-Canon Fix-It, and the f bomb is dropped a couple times for emphasis, more like who's Lao, multiple violations of the third commandment, the rest is shameless schmoop, they're idiots in love your honor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:35:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29272584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dodici/pseuds/Twelve
Summary: That one time Ash and Eiji went to visit Izumo Taisha, drank boba tea and kissed in the rain.
Relationships: Ash Lynx/Okumura Eiji
Comments: 2
Kudos: 64





	Someplace On Earth

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing fix-it fics way before I finished watching the anime (I suspect it’s a very relatable fandom experienceTM).  
> Btw, my English is worse than Eiji’s, feel free to yell at me about grammar XD

The way Japanese bow, Ash just doesn’t get it. 

“I can’t bow,” he declares, hostility channeled toward his bubble tea, tapioca balls squishing inside pale, muddy green. He doesn’t want to glare at the passers-by, and sure as hell he doesn’t want to glare at Eiji.

He doesn’t want to glare, just like he doesn’t want to bow. It’s just—he can’t bow. He won’t. Not to anyone, not even to one of those eight million gods that live in the whole of Japan. 

Eiji shrugs, unimpressed and relaxed; he’s a soft, quiet bunny in this habitat. He sips at his own boba, an even more awful matcha-green instead of avocado-green like Ash’s, and grabs Ash’s hand with the same candor he puts into waving at fellow citizens on the street, like all of it is natural—like Ash too belongs here.

“You don’t have to bow if you don’t want to. You’re not religious, and I’m not religious too, really.”

The air is damp, clouds gathering above like the fucking alien spaceship from _Independence Day_. 

Eiji lifts his head in the hoary light, squinting at the intersection and the patch of green framed by another one of those weird doorway thingies. It’s just as huge as the first one they walked through downhill; it’s a Stargate in the middle of the unassuming square. 

Maybe Japan wouldn’t feel like the weirdest place on Earth if Ash had ever been somewhere different from New York, L.A. and Cape Cod—he’s read books about places, and that’s it. He's never even read a book set in Japan.

He can’t quite pinpoint it, but Eiji must have a lot to do with somehow shaping things and places so that they both feel incredibly weird and incredibly familiar. Ash is some kind of snail, his shell is the hand wrapped around his own. 

He squeezes back. Eiji is his guide and his interpreter, here; Ash depends completely on him, as helpless as a chaste, virgin girl at her first date. He’s ready to collapse on the floor and start laughing at the sheer irony. He keeps on walking instead, eyes fixed toward the forest-y pathway.

“If you’re not religious, why do you bow?”

Eiji tilts his head and taps on the top of the straw, pensive.

“Tradition, mostly. I guess, living in a place like this, I was bound to take on some spirituality.” Ash wants to pinch his cheeks. He chews at the straw instead, and sucks up a squishy tapioca pearl, waiting for Eiji to continue.

“And, by the way, I’m incoherent enough that I have actually asked things to at least one God once in a while.”

“Eh? Then you _are_ religious!” It’s a very hypocritical accusation; Ash remembers perfectly to have done the exact same thing. For Eiji. 

“I’m not! It was just sometimes!” He shakes his head and—is he blushing? “And it wasn’t for me, so I don’t feel guilty!” Of course he doesn’t, eyes fiery and quiet and unapologetic, and Ash knows they’re both idiots. He pokes at his forehead with the plastic cup, to make him whine.

“What does that even mean? You could end up in hell for stuff like that, you know?”

“What, you believe in hell, now, Ash? That’s pretty incoherent too.” He’s grinning because he knows he’s won. Ash just can’t win ever, it’s his destiny, his karma; when Eiji is the one who wins, though, he doesn’t really mind.

Eiji’s hand is warm in his. The back of his shirt is clinging to his skin and stab wounds and bullet holes prickle and sting when the air is as damp and bloated as today. He’ll have to call Max, ask him where he buys his old man pants, since Ash is now evidently a rheumatic retired old man.

“This one is Seidamari torii. I mean, that’s the name of the square so that’s why it’s called like that—this one is made of wood, there’s going to be another two, one made of iron and the other—”

“You’d make a wonderful tourist guide, big bro.” 

“And you make a wonderful mean person, Ash. I’m trying to impart culture on you, be grateful.”

And Ash tries, for real, mostly because he really can’t read any of the signs—kanjis are still uncharted territory, he’s lucky if he’ll ever get to second-grade reading level for the end of the month.

Eiji’s voice is soothing. Torii are supposed to separate the profane from the sacred, he says, just like another million things from another million religions—the Romans used to dig lines in the ground, Greek temples had basements underneath and in India…

“It’s a pity the weather is so bad today. We should come back on Sunday with Emi-chan too, I'm sure she’ll insist on making you suffer through the whole tour! Whole Japanese spiritual experience, a total blast, whaddaya say?” He’s flailing his eyebrows, grin silly on his face—Ash grasps for air, laughing.

“What!”

“You have to—No, Eiji, I’m serious! You have to swear on every single god in Japan that you’re never ever going to try slang ever again! I forbid you!”

Eiji groans loud enough to make people turn, or maybe those are Ash’s hair, and Ash’s height and Ash everything. It doesn’t matter much, not while he’s still linked to Eiji by the hand. They step through the torii and into the green, and maybe Ash isn’t religious, but he’s seen and done and been enough to think that hell is actually someplace on Earth, carved deeper than bullets and stab wounds.

Except, if that’s true—Eiji grins and spills bubble tea as he points toward the pathway that opens between the trees under a rumbling sky—if that’s true, it must be true for heaven too, right?

*

The third torii is made of iron. Ash lifts his head to better look at its dark form, cutting against a sky made of concrete; the biggest raindrop falls right on his cheek.

“Chikusho—it’s starting to rain real big…”

Ash looks at him, nose up, squinting lightly at the grey-ish brilliance of the cloud gathered above. Eiji blinks when the sweatshirt plops on his head.

“Come on. We’re taking up the road, your gods don’t like that, right?”

Under the shadow of Ash’s sweatshirt, covering both their heads like a tent, Eiji blushes so hard Ash is sure he must have done something warrant of a death sentence.

“You said so?" he tries, and he isn't panicking. "That the Gods walk in the middle of the road while everybody else has to scoot over?” He feels like an idiot, face flushing for no reason at all; the rain falls even heavier—that sweatshirt isn’t going to last long; his feet are damn cold as the water bounces on the cobblestone up to his calves.

Eiji doesn’t seem to feel any of it.

“Yeah, I—It’s just, you know, walking in the rain with someone you like is regarded to be very romantic. Sharing an umbrella, especially.”

Ash blinks, both arms still up to keep the sweatshirt on the both of them. The sky growls another thunder; Ash.exe isn’t working.

“This isn’t an umbrella.” It’s literally the only thing he dares to say—the rest, his supposed genius-level computer brain can’t even start to process. Must be a cultural gap, Eiji’s English is good, but when he talks about ‘liking’—

Eiji shakes his head.

“Of course! Of course it isn’t!” His laugh is twisted, it grips at Ash’s throat. “I forget sometimes… I know it’s different for Americans, right? You kiss people like you give handshakes—”

For a whole long second Ash doesn’t know what happened; he coughs a muffle of clothes and blinks at grey fabric until it falls on the ground.

“Ops,” Eiji says, hands falling; the sweatshirt drowns inside a puddle and Ash doesn’t care.

“What does—what does that mean! Americans don’t—we don’t kiss—what’s that!”

“It’s just something Ibe-san said! You’re—I mean, you Westerners are more physical! So you shake hands and hug, and you kiss people way more easily, that’s what he said—”

“After I kissed you?”

“To pass me the note, yes! I know you did it to pass me the note! But Ibe-san didn’t know, so he told me that Americans kiss everyone and—”

Ash’s throat feels raw. The sky rumbles.

“Americans don’t kiss everyone, that’s Europeans.” That too might be a stereotype—but why are French kisses called French, then? Weird. Awkward. This is fucking awkward and Ash’s hands are shaking. Stupid, stupid. It’s the rain that’s fogging his eyes, his thoughts. He picks up the sweatshirt—might as well just wring it out.

“I don’t kiss everyone. I—not if I can avoid it.”

Eiji’s gaping mouth closes suddenly.

“Of course you don’t, Ash. Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Eiji is drenched too, now. And his eyes are so warm.

“I know you didn’t.” Ash sighs and shoves his hair away from his face, gaze up. “Well, we’re already wet, so better get going, right?”

He’s the one who offers the hand this time, and holding on to it feels just as good as being hold.

*

Is Ash even allowed to be this happy, hair plastered on his face and Eiji’s laugh inside his ears, louder than the rain.

Screw that—it shouldn’t be possible to be this happy, and excited, and fucking terrified all at the same time.

The drenched sweatshirt is now hanging at Ash’s hips, heavy with water and brushing uncomfortably on his legs. Another lighting, and Eiji’s eyes blink blue for a split second. 

The last person in traditional clothes yells something at them from the side of the temple as she rushes to close the window shutters. Eiji answers in kind and waves a hand.

“She said she’s leaving the side door open, in case we want to take cover inside.”

Ash can’t wait to learn Japanese. He lets Eiji tell him all about the biggest shimenawa in the whole of Japan, hanging there limp against the wind, straw rustling as the rain keeps on falling heavy on wood and stone.

“And since it’s October, all the Gods are here now!”

“I heard something about it but didn’t understand much, to be honest.”

Eiji nods, and water falls down from his hair.

“Ah, you see—October is called Kannazuki, the month without Gods. But that’s because all the Gods come here in Izumo and so October here is called—”

Self-restraint used to be one of Ash’s assets; goodbye to that too, as he pinches Eiji’s cheeks with reckless abandon.

“You realy know an awful lot about these Gods people for not being religious, ya know?”

Eiji flashes his tongue.

“It’s called culture, ya know? I thought you liked knowing stuff?” He pinches back, and even at being parroted Ash melts. “They all come here to discuss the harvest, the climate, and also match-making!” Eiji brushes one finger under his nose, lips turned up. “I guess it really sounds super silly to an American.”

It does sound pretty silly; traditions and culture: all silly things people made up. 

Water is still dripping down the wooden roof, and Eiji’s hair, leaving tiny droplets on his eyelashes. He’s looking back at Ash, maybe thinking the exact same thing; he commented on Ash’s eyelashes once, about how blonde they are, and that must have been the silliest thing anyone has ever said about his body, but it was just a thing: no implication but the cultural gap, no requests, and that’s—Ash doesn’t know what he can give. He isn’t sure there’s anything left to give, table cleared after everybody else got their meal, and now it’s just crumbles and stains and crusty plates—but Eiji. For Eiji, he’ll try everything once. And for himself too, a bit. For his stupid, self-destructive, selfish self.

It’s wet, but not bad wet. It’s October’s rain and no tongue at all, no secret messages inside capsules, no schemes and no spy stories; nothing to weaponize. Ash just _wanted_.

Eiji’s eyelashes are the darkest shade of brown; he’s closed his eyes, he leans in just enough to comply. Ash lips tingle and his head is a floating balloon of humid hair.

“About culture. Americans don’t—we _really_ don’t just kiss everybody.”

Eiji is still close enough that Ash can count the myriads of dark filigree inside his irises. Who needs the sun when he smiles like that?

“Yeah, understood. That means I’m really lucky.”

Eiji, who doesn’t want anything from him. Eiji, who cares.

Maybe Ash doesn’t need to be allowed to be happy, maybe he just is. And there’s no doubt in his mind about who’s the lucky one.


End file.
